


Trouble? It must be Monday.

by 1shinymess (magpie4shinies)



Category: Young Hercules
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie4shinies/pseuds/1shinymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Enjoy, fellow Yuletide participant! Thanks for helping me revisit this campy, fun little world.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Trouble? It must be Monday.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmethystShard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystShard/gifts).



> Enjoy, fellow Yuletide participant! Thanks for helping me revisit this campy, fun little world.

The air was sweet with the scent of new growth, and still crisp with the still-fading winter. The strength of the sun was the only comfort to Iolaus' bare arms as he sat and, to his not-so-secret disgust, worked on his mending. 

“Who knew Kora would be so sensitive about a new hair ribbon?” he muttered, and winced as he pricked himself for the second time. He wasn't terrible at the chore, really, but it wasn't one he really enjoyed and so he gave very little of his attention to it...as his poor, perforated fingers could attest to.

Hercules and Jason had both managed to navigate the landmine of Kora's temper through sheer dumb luck and neither of them had been willing to keep him company for such a dull chore when they had other things to do.

“Some friends. See if I help Jason with bandits on the road to Corinth again...” he muttered, and cursed as he pricked himself once more. 

The familiar weight of prickling power and weight flexed and Iolaus dropped his spare vest for his sword, stinging fingertips immediately driven from his mind as he searched for the god who had intruded on his drudgery. His eyes landed on the god in question at the same moment as he spoke.

“...ugh, I can't believe I've been reduced to this.”

“Strife,” Iolaus said, brow furrowing faintly as he kept his ears peeled for any evidence of other presences. Strife usually preferred the cloak of invisibility he could assume when causing mischief for the mortals...unless he was backing up Ares or Discord.

Strife held up a hand, calling Iolaus' attention back to him where he stood in the shade of the lone olive tree that had managed to creep into the clearing. “Yes, yes, what do you want, why are you here, where are the goats, I'll never let you get away with it – skip it. We don't have time.”

“Why don't we have time?” Iolaus asked slowly, eyes narrowing. “What was that about goats?”

Strife sneered and dragged a hand through his riotous black curls. “Look, as much as I hate to say this...and really, I _hate_ to have to say this, I'm giving myself an ulcer by being here...I need your help.”

Iolaus' grip tightened on the pomel of his sword automatically. “Uh, why would I help you?”

The sneer fell away from Strife's face, leaving an odd expression Iolaus couldn't fully read. “I guess you could say it's not me that needs your help so much as it is my uncle...and your dear Hercules.”

 _Herc?_ Iolaus thought, and found himself much closer to the god than he'd been and not aware of how he got there. “Is that a threat? Are you trying to start something here? Zeus – ”

Strife snapped and Iolaus found that though he continued to talk, no speech left his mouth. 

“Ugh. How does anyone interact with you bugs without squashing you?” Strife muttered, rolling his eyes. “Look, maybe Unc' and Hercules were fighting...nothing major, nothing new, right? But there was a peddler on the roadside, and maybe he was more than he seemed. Some of their stuff might've gotten smashed or something – I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention.”

Iolaus' huffed nasally, stepping right up to Strife and rolled his hand, trying to communicate to Strife that he should get to the point when he still couldn't speak.

Strife sighed. “Yeah, so...some strange magic latched onto them and they both collapsed...they're asleep and I can't wake either of them. The peddler is still there. We need to get him to break whatever enchantment he laid on them.”

Iolaus stared at him, eyes wide, and opened his mouth – then stopped and pointed to his throat with a glare. Strife flicked his fingers carelessly and Iolaus rubbed his throat as he spoke, though he felt no pain. “Why did you get me? I'm a good fighter and all, but Herc's that – and if it affects Olympians...”

Strife's lips thinned. “Hercules may have – _may_ – have fought whatever it was longer than Uncle. I figured it was the mortal blood in him, since they're both children of Zeus.”

“Ah...” Iolaus bit his lip. It could be a trap. OK, it was probably a trap.

...but. Iolaus sighed and lowered his sword. “Where?” 

At least it got him out of mending.


End file.
